


A Breath Of Life

by MelisandreStark



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2019-03-01 18:48:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13301025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelisandreStark/pseuds/MelisandreStark
Summary: Oneshot-- Catelyn's thoughts if she was still semi-sane and looked the same after being resurrected after the Red Wedding.





	A Breath Of Life

**Author's Note:**

> Hey so I wrote this a while ago and this is a big edit to make it better. Hope people actually like this.

When Catelyn thought about it, she wondered if a thief is the cruellest kind of man. Liars, cheats, cravens and rapers were all cruel in their own rights, but a thief is worse. And then, of course, some thieves are worse than others. Pickpockets and desperate beggars never bother Catelyn too much, but there is one thief, one malevolent being that made her want to rip her hair out. Death, of all things, was both a black, terrifying nightmare and a sweet release.

There was no sweet release for Catelyn. Not this time.

For death had stolen the most important thing, the only thing that mattered. Death had taken her boy. Robb. Her beautiful Robb. Why could she not help him any longer? The thought of his rotting corpse strewn somewhere, head separate to body, Auburn locks caked with blood and dirt and shit was wrong. Death had stolen Robb. And death had a name, as clear as that name that had stolen her beloved Ned.

Of course; she could not bring the dead back herself. Just a woman, a Tully maid and Stark bride, a mother with a big heart, prone to hysterics and betrayal. Is that what Robb thought of her, at the end? Is that what he truly believed of, in those last bittersweet days? There was a price to pay, a price for hurting her. The reputation for being completely devoted to her family, thinking with her heart not her head, just another pretty face with not much else about her would no longer stand. Her cheeks were tear stained, her arms shivering with cold and her hair bright and fiery. Eyes to colour of a river shot open at once.

"Hey, look over 'ere!" A man yelled, jogging over to her. Her hands gripped on the ground beneath her, she felt soil and moss get stuck in her fingernails. The sun was setting, leaving sky of vivid blue and purple and orange and red.  _And she rises and the set falls._ The last thing Catelyn could remember feeling was pain. Both physical and mental, the banging in her head, the beating of the drums, the blade that had slid so easily over her neck... "She's finally awake! Thoros get over here, she's opened her bloody eyes?"

The stench of ale raced into Catelyn's mouth, into her nose and down her throat. She gagged. Gripping the soil beneath her, she pushed herself into a sitting position. There were trees she saw, not the deathly white kind she had grown used to in the north but the oak and birch that were the weirwoods feeble replacement down south. The branches swayed softly, their browning leaves starting to float gently to the ground. A sudden gust of wind hit her with full force and she snapped out of her own head, feeling the cold for the first time in what felt like forever. Her gown was shredded and torn, her knotted and unkempt.  _Oh gods, take me home._

She opened her mouth to speak, only to realise how dry her throat was, tongue like sandpaper and lip spotted with dry blood in between cracked skin. A man offered her his arm with a smile, he had bad teeth but seemed not to notice. A trusting smile, Catelyn saw. At least she hoped. "Would you like somethin' to drink, m'lady?" He offered, and Catelyn nodded gently bringing a finger to her lips. Her limbs felt sore and stiff, like she'd been a deep sleep for days and hadn't moved at all. She saw the man go to a nearby stream and fill a small cup of water that Catelyn accepted gratefull savouring the feeling as it ran down her throat. "Thank you." She croaked, very conscious that lots of men were staring at her.

After realising that most of the men weren't looking at her face, she turned to her battered gown again. The once beautiful and intricate design on the fabric was faded, the blue dye had bled onto her white shift underneath. Her right sleeve was half gone, her skin underneath dusted with freckles, the right sleeve hanging on by a few threads above her shoulder. There was a great tear down the front of her dress, and while her shift covered her belly and breasts it did leave a certain amount of cleavage. The men were still looking so she tried to pull the stained blue shift upwards. A crackle from a new fire caught her attention and the man who had lit it, the man who had the trusting smile. "Kind ser..." Her voice was still croaky so she coughed a few times in attempt to clear it. "Pray, where are we? And may I ask your name, I'm Lady-"

"Catelyn Stark." The man smiled. "I'm Lem, and you're in the riverlands. And I ain't a knight, just Lem Lemoncloak. Harwin found you lying by the river, I told him to leave it but he swore it was Lord Stark's wife. 'No,' I told him. 'Lady Stark was killed at the twins with the Young Wolf and the rest of 'em, but he wouldn't hear of it. Lord Beric came after us to see what was 'appening, Harwin explained and well...now you're here. "

"Lord Beric? Dondarrion?" Lem smiled sadly. "May I speak with him?"

"No, m'lady. Thoros told him not to but he didn't listen, you see. He said that you were a good woman and he'd save ya in Lord Stark's memory. He's gone now, and you're here."

"Save me?" Catelyn knitted her fingers together slowly. "From what?"

"Death, m'lady. Gave you the kiss."

She looked to the ground and ran her hand through her tangled hair.  _Saved me from death? The kiss?_ Catelyn shook her and wrapped her arms around herself. "I hate to be rude, ser, but do you happen to have any other clothes I can wear? It's only that this dress is a bit..." The state of her gown didn't really need voicing, it was clear enough.

"I can give you something, but they won't be a lady's clothes and they'll be big for ya." She nodded gratefully and he went off into a tent. Another man approached her with a huge grin on his face. He said nothing, just looked at her for a minute while she smiled uncomfortably.

"Hello." She eventually uttered, wrapping her arms around herself tighter.

"Good evenin', m'lady" He replied. "You're daughter was here you know. Small, skinny thing."

Catelyn's head shot up. "Arya? Have you seen Arya?"

"Arry, that's the one." He nodded. "Now I'm thinkin' about it, she did leave a message for ya should we ever meet. I'll show it to ya is you want, come with me." The man held out his hand and she took it reluctantly. She didn't trust his smile half as much as she trusted Lem's, but he was speaking of her daughter, and anything that could possibly lead her to Arya was worth it.

He lead her away from the camp. "You say Arya was here. Do you have any idea where she went, ser?" Catelyn asked, feeling obliged to use the title even this man was almost certainly not knighted.

The footsteps behind her stopped, but before she could turn around to face the man he pushed her against a tree in front of them. His arms had an iron grip, Catelyn struggled and kicked at him. "What are you doing?" She asked, willing herself not to cry in front of a stranger. "Let me go! Let go!"

He just chuckled, pulling her skirts up as she began to sob. "You might have been able to boss everyone around in your castle, m'lady, but not 'ere." She screamed when he thrust himself inside her, begging for the darkness to return, for him to get off, for Robb and Ned to return to her, Bran and Rickon, Sansa and Arya. For the cruelties of the world to come to an end. "I always wanted to try a highborn whore, m'lady." He whispered in her ear, foul breath making her gag.

Footsteps were coming up behind them and he started going faster, Catelyn's fat tears streaming down her face like tiny waterfalls and dripping from her chin into her dress. "Ammett! Get off her!" Men were crying, Lem Lemoncloak and strangers voices.  _Help me, help me, help me._ The man was pulled off her with complaint, she collapsed by the tree and wept into her right sleeve. "What the fuck were you doing?"  _Help me..._

And then help did come.

Before the men arrived there was a growl and two screams. The man was pushed off Catelyn with a cry, and when Catelyn turned to see what had done it there was a enormous wolf. Her first instinct was to run away, but then she noticed something. This wolf was larger than any she'd seen before, grey fur stained in the man's blood and dark golden eyes. "Nymeria?" She whispered as men yelled at her to get away. One step closer and the wolf stepped away from the man. Catelyn held her hand out and gulped. "Nymeria, is that you?" The wolf slowly edged closer, looking her up and down and then sprinted towards her. She froze in preparation to be attacked, but instead felt a wet tongue lick her hand. "Nymeria!" She smiled, letting her lick her hand more and ruffling her fur. 

The wolf ran around her in happy circles and the men looked shocked.  _What were they expecting,_ Catelyn thought as she smiled.  _If you spend enough time in the wolves den, you're bound to become like them._

"M'lady, are you alright?" Lem asked cautiously.

"That man was of evil nature, ser." She said, pointing as his bleeding corpse. "But she is an old friend." Catelyn went down to her knees and hugged the wolf, feeling her fur brush against her neck and arms like to softest blanket.  _If only Arya were here to see you._

With her eyes closed Catelyn could see nothing. She liked that. Liked the simplicity and calmness that could almost seem idyllic, if there wasn't the nagging thoughts of the back of her head reminding herself of her family and her duty. Her honour was certainly gone now, whatever small amount of it had remained to her. But Nymeria was from her home, and it did help her. 

There was a throbbing pain between her legs, so unlike to sweet soreness she had once felt when Ned was with her.  _I'll never feel that again,_ she thought bitterly.  _Ned is lost to the world, and yet the cruel and vulgar ways of this man remain. If the Father judges us justly, why is this allowed to be so?_

Someone shook her gently tapped her shoulder and Catelyn jumped, shuddered as her eyes met Lem's. Perhaps Nymeria was here now to make things better, but the touch of a man, however innocently, was no longer welcome."I am so sorry about Ammett. Truly. He was very close with Lord Beric, you see, and...he was angry when he died to bring you here. He will be judged by the gods now, m'lady. And he'll be in hell for what he did to you."

"Ammett?"

"Ammett Flowers, that's his name. Bastard of one of 'em Tyrell's, a Leo I think...or maybe a Luthor." She nodded and walked away from him, back towards the fire.  _Ammett Flowers,_ she thought. _Ammett Flowers, bastard of Highgarden._ He was a thief (stealing her dignity must count for something, mustn't it?) but, despite how much he had shaken her, he truly was one of the least of her worries. Men like Ammett Flowers could be cruel in their own right, but in comparison to men like Walder Frey, Roose Bolton and Tywin Lannister, they were nothing.  "It'll be dark before long, m'lady, we should all be getting some rest. I'm gonna take first watch after I settle the horses down..."

"If you don't mind, I'd like to take the first watch." Catelyn started walking back to fire with Nymeria on her left and Lem on her right. 

Lem smiled weakly. "You don't need to take a watch, m'lady. Enough has happened to you today, and you'll need some rest."

"I must insist, ser. I'll feel very rude is I don't, and besides, first watch is the easiest."

"And your...uh...pet, m'lady. Will she be staying with ya?"

"She's my daughters, Arya. Nymeria was given to her as a puppy and they became the best of friends. I only hope that I will be able to return her to Arya one day. It isn't a problem is she stays with me, is it? She won't hurt anyone, I swear it." She then paused and turned back. "Not anyone who doesn't deserve it."

"Of course, m'lady." Lem nodded, and went to settle the horses they had for the night. This was another of the many times when she found herself thanking the gods that Ned had given their children the direwolf pups, for without them things may have turned out far worse.  _Thought really, how much worse can my life get? And it's all my fault. Had I not let Robb wed that stupid Jeyne Westerling then..._

But he had been so happy, with Jeyne, his blushing bride. So happy. A marriage founded on love may be the sweetest kind, and it may have given her son joy, but everyone had known it was not to be. Why hadn't Robb just listened to her? Her own marriage had been one of duty; she had never had any particular desire to marry Eddard Stark, especially since his brother had been so dear to her, and yet she did as she was told. It was wolf blood, Ned told her, that made some of the Stark's wilder. Brandon had it, Lyanna had it. Did Robb have it? Catelyn wasn't sure, but one thing she did know was that their rash decisions had led to their death (perhaps not Lyanna so much, but it had always been a little difficult to believe that such a strong and independent maid would be so easily captured by the crown prince.)

Jeyne was a pretty girl, Catelyn supposed, though not worth the trouble she'd caused. At four and ten, Catelyn had been one of the greatest beauties of the seven kingdoms, with their fiery auburn hair and river-blue eyes of house Tully. Her betrothal to Brandon Stark had stood for years, and yet other houses still offered their sons as suitors for Catelyn as she was an exceedingly desirable maid. Her little sister, Lysa, had never really been much competition for her. Lysa had the hair, the eyes and the figure but whenever young boys came to Riverrun to meet Lysa they had always become more infatuated with her elder sister. This was largely due to personality, Catelyn assumed. Lysa had always been a finicky child, crying for almost everything and telling tales on everyone and everything. Catelyn had been thrust into the position of Lady of Riverrun in her ninth year after her mother's death, and was therefore always more mature and down-to-earth than her sister.

Catelyn found a tree to sit up against and settled down, Nymeria laying across her legs and starting to drift off to sleep. Her long, pale fingers stroked through the wolf's fur that was smooth and felt like running her hand through a gentle stream, like the ones she'd played in when she was a child in Riverrun.

_On my honour as a Tully._

Tully. House Tully was an old house from the riverlands, never royalty like the Starks and Lannisters, but a noble house nonetheless. Catelyn's childhood as Tully had been idyllic as a whole. Some of her earliest memories were of her mother, Minisa, playing with her and Lysa in the rivers that ran outside of Riverrun, teaching them to swim and holding them as they kicked excitedly at the water. Her death had been the first experience of sadness Catelyn had known. She remembered little of the day she found out, only some of her father's household guard carrying a body outside with a sheet over it.  _That looks like mother's hair,_ she remembered thinking when she saw the few thin strands that had escaped the blanket covering her. In a nervous panic she'd rushed to her mother's chambers, only to find her father knelt by the empty bed with his head in his hands. Catelyn had not shed a tear in front of her family that day however, she stayed strong. As the Lady of Riverrun from her ninth year, she always had to be strong.

_"Are you emotionless? You're a monster, you crazy bitch! Petyr loves you!"_

_Petyr loves you._

_Petyr loves you._

Those words had been hard to hear, but had dawned on Catelyn as the harsh reality. Lysa had been the unlucky one though, so hung up on a stupid boy that had been in love with her older sister through everything. Like it had happened yesterday, Catelyn could see the moment Petyr Baelish professed his love for her, challenging Brandon Stark to a duel he was doomed to loose before it started. How Lysa could not see how hard it had been on her Catelyn didn't know. Petyr had been like a brother to her, they had grown up together, played together, cried together and helped each other. And then he had to go and ruin everything. Poor Lysa had taken it the hardest though, but had been so sure he'd return because of the babe resting inside her.

Poor, naïve Lysa. It was never to be.

_On my honour as a Stark._

For many years Catelyn had expected to wed Brandon Stark, the handsome and charismatic heir to Winterfell. At first she had been nervous about it, The North was such a cold place and she was a southron child, born amongst rivers and under the sun. It was ironic how now she would be wroth to live anywhere that didn't have freezing winters and freezing summers, as over the years that had become her home, the cocoon she could always feel comfort within. He had visited Riverrun to see many times, Lysa had told her many times how lucky she was to have such an amazing betrothed. She had felt butterflies in her belly every time he had spoken to her, felt blood rise in her cheeks when he told her how pretty she looked. Had she loved him? No. She hadn't known what love was. It had taken more than Brandon Stark to show her what love truly was. 

_Lady Catelyn, my name is Eddard Stark._

_I knew what your name was._

_I knew._

_Of course I knew._

Of course she had known her beloved Brandon's brother was called. She had been deeply saddened by his death, but Catelyn did not cry about it. Perhaps her new betrothed had been less comely, with much less charisma and a face that was seemingly made of stone, but she had never disliked the idea of marrying him. In truth, she hadn't really thought about it. All her energy on her wedding day had been set on Lysa, who'd been distraught about having to marry Jon Arryn, a man old enough to be her father. She had been weeping right up until they entered the sept, where Catelyn had wiped her eyes and told her to be strong. At their wedding feast she had been sat next to Ned, as she should have been, and wondered how to start a conversation with such a man. 'I am sorry if I do not please you, my lord', she'd said. 'You are very beautiful, my lady. More beautiful that a hundred Cersei Lannister's', he's replied.

_Cersei Lannister._

_Cersei Lannister._

Catelyn had never been one to curse a lot, but the only word that would properly describe the current Queen Regent was _bitch._ Poor Sansa was stuck in that horrid city with that horrid woman.  _How lonely my poor baby must be, gods help her._ Sansa's birth had been the first time Catelyn had felt any proper warmth to her northern husband, holding the little miracle they'd made together in her arms, seeing one of the rare smiles he gave out plastered onto his face. Hearing his love for their daughter, his eternal joy. Her own joy was turning to ashes in her mouth, like heaven had been caught in a war with hell, and hell was winning. Part of her was still angry at Ned for bringing that bastard boy into their home, but over time she had learnt that Jon Snow would be staying with them no matter what.

_Jon Snow._

_Jon Stark_.

Why had she been so hard on him, a motherless and lonely child? An innocent child. But the pain, the utter devastation and shame that came with this innocent child had been to much for her to handle. At only eight and ten, Catelyn had been so angry and upset by Ned she had been blind to the basic reality and Jon Snow had suffered for it. His name should be Jon Stark, he was a Stark in truth no matter what his surname was. No matter what else he was, he had been a brother to Robb, and a true one. Catelyn had been to ignorant to see that until it was too late.

_I will trade your boy's life for Robb's._

_The King in the North._

Torrhen Stark died with that title, and it should have died with him. Robb would have been a good and true king, Catelyn was sure, but that is not what he'd been born for. He was just a boy really. Born to be the Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North like his father, the pressure from his bannermen and enemies and been cruel and had damaged him beyond what he let show. War had crept it's way into his life far too soon, repeatedly stabbing him and cutting him before he could learn how to resist. Every drop of blood spilt, every betrayal, every innocent man murdered at the hands of Walder Frey, Roose Bolton and Tywin Lannister was an innocent man too many. What could she have done, to save him, at the end of it all? Kept him from the Twins, sent him to Winterfell like she was punishing an little boy and lock him in his chambers? The boy needed to make mistakes to learn, but some mistakes are to severe to learn from. When the thieves snatch the most important thing; your life.

_You betrayed me, Mother._

_You betrayed me._

_Mother._

If only he had paid her more mind. Catelyn had hoped that Dacey Mormont would have been enough to show him that women can be all the men can, but to no avail. A dress doesn't make you weak, a babe doesn't make you stupid and breasts don't make you naïve, but no man will ever see that. Robb would have never understood the lengths she was willing to go to in order to free Sansa and Arya, to help him, to return to Bran and Rickon. If slaying every Lannister living would have gotten them back together Catelyn would have hacked their heads off herself, but no one ever saw that. Though she'd hack off any Lannister she got her hands on, if she could, with maybe the exception of Tyrion. Every day that they keep Sansa in their clutches is another day that her daughter suffers. 

_Her daughter._

The first day she'd had a daughter was a grand day, her beautiful little Sansa. The first time Sansa had called Catelyn 'Mother' was something she remembered as clearly as the day just passed. Every one of her children had called her 'Mother' for the first time, and each moment had reserved it's place in her memory. Robb would never call her Mother again, nor would Bran or Rickon. She needed to find Sansa, and Arya, if she was still alive, needed them to know that their mother was never going to abandon them again, and would stand in dragonfire to let them live another day with happiness. Her boys were gone, in the hands of the gods, but if there was one thing she knew for sure it was that women were just as strong as men, if not stronger.

 _A son for a son_.

All her boys had left the earth now. In her own mind, there were no crueller thing that to murder a child, and that was exactly what Theon Greyjoy had done. Catelyn had raised her children alongside that boy, welcomed him to her table, fed him and bathed him and for what? For him to repay her and Ned by murdering their two youngest boys and setting their home aflame. Rickon was only three years old when death had stolen him from her. The thief that is never caught. And Bran, her little Bran, a boy who'd suffered enough to last three life times before the thief came for him too. Was there no mercy for the young in this world of pain and suffering? Not from death.

_You're not going to leave me, are you Mother?_

_You're not going to leave me?_

_Leave me?_

That was what Sansa had said when Catelyn and Ned had told her they were expecting another babe. She'd only just seen her third year then ( _the same age as baby Rickon...)_ but had heard a stories of the perils of the childbed from other children that were living at Winterfell. Life and Death are the two things Catelyn could not promise her, for it is harder still when the promise is broken. The childbed is not what lead Catelyn to meet the thief, however, but had blessed her with five beautiful babes  _(only to be stolen by the bastard thief such little time later)._

She snapped out of her daze when Nymeria licked her hand, looking up at her big golden eyes that were of concern and love. Catelyn scratched behind her ear and got an affectionate noise in response. "We cannot stay here." She whispered, standing up. The wolf followed her to where the horses were being kept, there were three. Two were asleep so Catelyn untied the third and stroked it's mane softly. As a child her father had gotten her a mare for her tenth nameday, a chestnut beast with a special bond to her called Tansy. She'd ridden Tansy to Winterfell for the first time, when Robb was but a babe and her husband was fighting in Robert's war. Tansy had passed not long afterwards, and Catelyn had never had the heart to get another horse for herself. Making sure Nymeria was right behind her, Catelyn mounted the horse and started rode through the forest.

Lady Stark rode off into the night, heading straight for the Lion's den. _Sansa_. She thought. _I'm coming, Sweetling. I'm coming._


End file.
